


Cuff Me

by wingedcatninja



Series: Kinktober 2019 [32]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Bondage, CBT, Caning, Chains, Cock & Ball Torture, Dean x OC, Dungeon, F/M, Femdom, Hand Job, Impact Play, Kinktober 2019, Sub Dean, Sub!Dean, Submissive Dean Winchester, Supernatural Kink Bingo 2019, shackles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:13:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21749584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingedcatninja/pseuds/wingedcatninja
Summary: Dean wants to try real cuffs. She suggests the bunker dungeon.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Morgan Chase (OC)
Series: Kinktober 2019 [32]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1495709
Kudos: 21





	Cuff Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @spnkinkbingo (late post), @spndeanbingo, and @idreamofplaid’s Bunker Challenge (prompt: Dungeon). It was also supposed to be day 31 of Kinktober 2019 which had no prompt. I apologize for nothing.
> 
> Square Filled (@spnkinkbingo): Handcuffs  
> Square Filled (@spndeanbingo): The Bunker

Returning from the garage after seeing Sam off for his weekend in Sioux Falls, she stopped in the open doorway. Dean was standing by the bed, his back to her, looking down into her box of toys. She usually kept it under the bed and locked. Apparently, she had forgotten to lock it, or maybe he had picked the lock, but there it was on the bed wide open. Oblivious to her presence, Dean reached into the box and picked up one of the few sets of metal handcuffs she kept in there. 

She had never used metal cuffs on Dean, thinking they would be more likely to bring up bad memories. Instead, she had stuck to leather cuffs or rope. Sometimes, she would tell him to hold still and rely on his willpower to restrain him. Watching him turn the cuffs over in his hands, she wondered if she had been wrong.

“Dean?” Her voice startled him and he spun to face her, his hands behind his back and an expression on his face like that of a five-year-old being caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Nothing. What?” He looked flustered.

Leaning against the door jamb, she struggled to keep the grin off her face. She crossed her arms in front of her and cocked her head.

“Whatcha doin’?” 

“I uh- it was- I just-,” Dean stammered, flustered.

“What’s behind your back?” She raised an eyebrow and nodded toward him.

There was a slight rattle from the cuffs slipping back into the box.

“What? Nothing? I don’t- What?” His face was almost as red as his favorite shirt.

Pushing off from the door, she sauntered over to the bed, Dean turning to keep her in his sight.

“Listen, I can explain. I was looking for- it doesn’t matter. The box, it was there, and it wasn’t locked so I opened it, and there was all this stuff…,” Dean trailed off when he saw the slight smile on her face, huffing in frustration.

“So you thought you’d go through my stuff? You could’ve just asked, y’know,” she said, picking up the cuffs he had been holding and dangling them from her finger.

“Yeah, I shouldn’t’ve done that, I’m sorry,” Dean said, clearly contrite, but equally clearly distracted by the cuffs.

“And out of everything in there, you picked up these,” she mused. “I’d like to know why.”

Dean’s hand came up to rub the back of his neck, his blush returning full force. 

“To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure,” he muttered.

She watched him silently, the cuffs still dangling from her finger between them.

“I guess...curiosity?” Dean finally added, shrugging a little.

“Curiosity,” she repeated slowly. “I’ve restrained you before, Dean, it’s not like bondage is a new thing for you.”

“Yeah, no, I know that.” His eyes shifted around the room nervously. 

“So what about these cuffs in particular piqued your curiosity?” She tried to keep her tone neutral, not wanting to lead Dean to an answer, but also not wanting to sound judgmental.

Dean’s eyes came back to the cuffs, glancing off them before falling briefly on the box, then apparently finding something terribly fascinating to study on the floor between them. She stayed silent, waiting for him to speak.

“They’re metal,” he finally mumbled, his words barely audible even in the silence of the room.

Flipping the cuffs into the palm of her hand, she put them back into the box and stepped into Dean’s space, forcing him to look at her.

“You’ve had metal cuffs on you before, Dean,” she pointed out.

“Not with you,” he replied instantly.

Ah. So that was the bottom line. 

“And you want to?” It seemed like the safest way to go at the moment.

Dean nodded, his eyes on hers. She studied his eyes for a long moment, trying to gauge his mood. Finally, she took half a step back and smiled.

“Tell me,” she said, sitting down on the bed.

Dean slid the box out of the way and sat down next to her. He stared at his hands for so long, she began to worry he had lost his nerve. Finally, he took a deep breath and looked up at her.

“I would like for you to chain me in the dungeon,” he told her slowly.

“And?” The fact that she was all but holding her breath almost did not come through in her voice at all.

Dean shrugged, seeming at a loss.

“I didn’t think that far,” he admitted. “Can we just try the first part and see how it goes?”

Letting out the breath she had been holding, she nodded.

“Absolutely. Tell you what, give me five minutes to set up, then come join me in there. Ok?” She waited for him to nod. “Go to the bathroom, have some water, and try to relax,” she told him.

Giving him a kiss on the cheek, she grabbed the box and headed toward room 7B.

* * *

She had just finished her preparations when she heard the door to the storeroom close. A moment later, Dean peeked his head around the shelf door that stood open. She waved him inside, then went to lock the door and put a couple of boxes in front of the vent. Closing the shelves behind her, she was confident no one would hear them unless they were listening just outside. And unless Dean was very loud.

When she turned back toward Dean, he was very pointedly not looking at the table where she had set the box. He was also very visibly not relaxed. Moving in close to him, she took his hands and placed them on her hips. Cradling his face, she pulled him down for a slow kiss. When she felt him relax into her, his hands sliding up her back, she gently broke away. 

“That’s better,” she told him. “I want this to be good for you,” she explained.

Dean nodded, his hands giving her a gentle squeeze.

“Before we start, tell me your safeword,” she prompted.

“Apples,” Dean replied quickly.

She nodded and stepped back.

“Take your clothes off,” she instructed him, moving over to the table, “and then stand in the middle of the devil’s trap.”

Dean did as he was told, leaving his clothes in a pile on the back of the single chair by the table. He had to walk around the chains and ended up standing in between them, his eyes avoiding the spell-etched manacles at the end of them.

She had adjusted the chains so that the manacles hung right about Dean’s eye-height. It would make putting them on him easier. 

While Dean undressed and moved into position, she had slipped on her favorite heeled boots. Even with them on, and Dean barefoot, she was still a couple of inches shorter. She did not choose to wear them for the height though. It was for the psychological effect. The sound of the heels on the concrete floor. It was more powerful than people, in general, liked to admit.

At the first sound of her boots, Dean’s eyes snapped to her feet. She ignored it, walking slowly across the floor, each step making that distinctive sound. Stopping in front of him, she cocked her head and studied his face.

“Last chance to back out,” she said simply.

Dean’s eyes flicked to her eyes, then glanced at the shackles. His Adam’s apple bobbed, betraying his nerves. When he looked back at her, there was determination in his eyes. 

Without speaking, she took his wrist and raised it to the manacle, closing the cold metal around it. The snap of the padlock made Dean’s eyelids flutter, but that was all the reaction he showed. Once the other wrist was secured, she walked behind him and released the chain from the hook on the wall. With slow, even movements, she pulled on the chain to raise the shackles higher, until his heels were raised about an inch off the floor. Having to stay up on the pads of his feet would keep him off balance just enough for her purposes.

Dean shuffled a little, trying to find the best position where there really was none. By the time she was in front of him again, he had stilled, choosing to endure rather than struggle. She took a moment to watch him for any signs that he was not all right. Finding none, she decided to proceed.

She dragged a single fingertip from his temple to his jaw, looking up at him with a wicked gleam in her eyes.

“This is gonna be so much fun,” she whispered.

A quick trip to the table and she returned with a length of what looked like shoelace in her hand. Dean watched her silently, focusing on her rather than the metal already biting into his wrists. Her hands went to his cock and he felt her wrap the cord around his balls, pulling them away from his body. She took her time, careful not to pinch or hurt him in any way. Finally, she fastened the cord with a knot in front, tucking the ends under to keep them out of the way. 

Dean flinched at the feeling of her nails dragging over the tight skin when she was done. It felt so much more intense. He was surprised to realize his cock was half-hard, in spite of the situation.

Her fingers went from his tied up balls to his cock, caressing it slowly, stroking along the full length. Her nails tickled the tip, feeling him twitch. Moving in closer, pressing her body against his, she licked and nipped at his neck. So close to him, she could feel the beginnings of a slight tremble of strain in his muscles. 

Once he was fully hard in her hand, she stepped away to grab the next toy. Dean’s eyes followed her, widening at the sight of the cane. She held it where he could see it on purpose, gauging his reaction. She saw his eyes widen, but he stayed silent, so she continued.

She put the tip of the cane against his chest, then dragged it across his skin when she walked slowly around him.

“I’ll try not to hurt you too much, beautiful. But no promises,” she purred, her words punctuated by the sound of her footsteps.

Stopping in front of him, she held the cane low, aiming for his balls. Dean’s entire body tensed in anticipation of the pain, his hands clenching into fists above the shackles. She took a big swing, enjoying watching his face scrunch up in fear. Then she tapped the cane lightly against his balls.

The sight of Dean’s whole body relaxing, his breath rushing out of him in relief, was immensely gratifying. She smirked at him. Starting at his knees, she moved the cane in short, quick taps up his inner thighs, alternating sides at random. When she reached his groin, she reversed directions. Tap, tap, tap, over and over, up, then down, and up again, relentlessly.

When she began, Dean wondered briefly what the point was. There was no pain, just the slight tap when the cane connected with his skin. After a few rounds, he started to feel his skin heat up. A few more and he felt a slight sting. There was no variation in the taps, just implacable, _tap, tap, tap_ , over and over. His inner thighs started to feel like she had rubbed nettles on them; a burning sting that covered the whole area. The longer she went on, the more it hurt. He had to force himself to keep still, to endure. 

She saw it all in his expressions and body language. Every nuance, every change. It was all there for her to read like an open book. His muscles were so tense that he was on his toes. His hands had gripped the chains that attached to the manacles, knuckles white from clenching so tightly. Through it all, he refused to close his eyes. He watched her, using her to keep him grounded in the moment. 

When she finally ceased her assault on his thighs, it was only to move to his balls. Not being able to see where she aimed the cane, Dean grunted at the contact. It was more in surprise than pain since the force was still constant. The progression of heat, into sting, into pain was faster now, with a smaller strike area. Within a minute, she could tell Dean wanted to pull his knees up, to curl in on himself. Still, he endured. 

His muscles burned with strain, not only from the awkward position he was in but from keeping still. His jaw hurt from clenching, trying not to cry out. The pain was intense, enough to drown out the lingering ache in his thighs. Yet it was nothing like what he had expected. He had been hit in the balls before, in fights. This was completely different. When she finally moved from his balls to his cock, he felt relief. Ironically.

She kept up her assault on his balls until he was teetering on the breaking point. Moving to his cock, she never altered her speed or force. He had softened, unsurprisingly. She already knew he was not turned on by pain. That was not the point of this experiment anyway. She did not linger on his cock, it was too uncertain a target anyway with the way it moved with each strike. Instead, she moved on to his belly, widening her strokes to connect with the length of the cane instead of only the tip. 

Watching her face while she worked, Dean was able to tune out some of the pain. It was clear from her focused expression and her shining eyes that she was enjoying herself. It gave Dean a warm feeling in his chest, knowing that he was able to give her that. Or that she was able to take it from him, might be more accurate. He did give it willingly though. 

She lost track of time while she worked on turning Dean’s skin warm and rosy. Working her way up his belly and chest, then back to his shoulders and down his ass and thighs. Once Dean could not see her anymore, he started fidgeting, moving his feet, flexing his shoulders. All the little signs told her the pain affected him more when she was no longer in his line of sight to keep him grounded. 

Setting the cane aside on the table, she moved back in front of him. His eyes immediately found her, following her every move. She pressed her body against him, her nails dragging slowly over the hot skin of his chest and belly, leaving white marks behind.

“My good boy, taking it all so well, enduring for me,” she praised him. 

Dean hissed in a long breath through his teeth at the feeling of her nails on his sensitive skin. She continued all the way down to his cock, and further down to his balls. He flinched at the feeling of her nails scratching the taut skin, even as his cock twitched with interest. 

“You’ve made me very happy, my pretty boy, and you’ve deserved a nice big reward,” she continued to praise him.

Her hand moved back to his cock, gentle fingers stroking it lightly. Her tongue flicked out to taste the salty sweat on his neck, lips closing on his skin to suck hard. She wanted to put her mark on him, to let everyone know he was hers. 

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby, gonna take care of you,” she purred right by his ear.

She saw the goosebumps erupt at her words, or maybe at the feeling of her breath on his skin. His cock twitched in her hand, growing harder by the moment. Pausing only long enough to move behind him, she put her chin on his shoulder, her arms going around his waist for her to reach his cock to resume her teasing.

Dean felt her breasts press against his back while her hands worked their magic on him. His head leaned against hers, feeling her hot breath on his skin. Each time she turned her head and mouthed at his neck, a ripple of pleasure ran through him, from where her lips connected to his cock. The warm burning areas on his body only added to the pleasure. Whenever her jeans rubbed against his ass or her shirt buttons against his back, pleasure shot through him to pool in his belly. At this rate, he was not going to last long.

His body was damp with sweat, making her shirt stick to his skin. Her fingers massaged his cock. Every so often she would dip one hand lower to tease his balls, drag her nails over the sensitive skin, or give them a little tug. His panting breaths, right by her ear, were like music; the trembling of his muscles like art. Whispering encouragement, she coaxed him toward the edge, wanting to feel him fall apart from her touch.

Throughout the caning, Dean had not made a sound beyond a sharp breath. Now, his gasps soon turned into soft moans, that turned into drawn-out growls. Shivers ran up his spine, his balls wanted to tighten but the cord binding them prevented it. That alone dragged out that feeling of bliss just before his climax. He had goosebumps all over his body. So close, just balancing on the edge, a little more.

Her hands slowed. She knew he was right on the edge. She wanted him to beg for it. One hand dragged up his torso, fingers teasing his nipples and drawing little whimpers from him.

“Beg me, my pretty. Beg for it and you can have it,” she coaxed him.

Dean’s breath hitched, loud rasping gasps filling the room.

“Please… please let me come…,” he managed to choke out.

“Good boy,” she praised him. “Come for me then, give me everything.”

Both hands stroked, teased, squeezed, tickled, coaxed his cock toward the precipice. Short breaths, half-choked sobs, wheezing gasps, whispered prayers of her name, all dripped from his lips. With a strangled grunt, his body shook against her, thick ropes of come falling on the floor beneath him. 

She milked his cock until nothing more came out, then let go and came around in front of him. Pressing her body against his, she kissed his jaw, the corner of his mouth, his cheekbone. She nibbled his lips, breathing his gasps. She stayed close to him until his eyes opened again and sought hers. She met his gaze with a soft smile. Kissing his lips, she stepped away and walked behind him. The chain rattled when she unfastened it from the wall and let it down. She went slowly, letting him get his feet steady under him before lowering it further. 

Dean’s hands still gripped the chains above the shackles as if his life depended on it. When she unlocked the padlock and removed the iron band from around his wrist, she was there to catch him before he fell. When she removed the other one, she had to support most of his weight, in spite of his best efforts. She helped him to the chair and sat him down, laying a blanket over his shoulders. He hunched over on the chair, his hands fumbling for her. Stepping into his space, she cradled his head against her, combing her fingers through his damp hair, soothing, reassuring.

Not until he let go and sat back did she move to straighten up, and even then she did it quickly, leaving most of the cleaning up for later. Getting Dean to his feet, she helped him to their room. He resisted being tucked in, instead sitting with his back against the headboard while she sat down next to him. He drank the water she handed him but still seemed like his mind was far away.

“Dean?” She tried to get his attention. She had to say his name twice more before his eyes focused on her. “Are you ok?”

He nodded, still seeming a little out of it. She held his hand and sat there with him until he gave a deep shuddering sigh.

“Oh wow,” he muttered, his voice a little hoarse.

“Yeah? Is that a good wow, or a bad wow?” She gave him a small smile.

“Good, I think,” he said slowly. “No, definitely good,” he amended after a moment.

“Ok. You wanna talk about it? Or you need some time to process?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna need a minute,” he said, nodding. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“That’s fine. I’m here when you’re ready to talk,” she assured him.

“I know,” he gave her a warm smile. “Can we just sit here for a bit?”

“Of course,” she nodded, shifting to snuggle into his side.


End file.
